On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me… a double CD of all my "favorite" Christmas songs, which of course includes "The 12 Days of Christmas." I hate that song.
On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me… She knows I don't have a CD player any more. Not even in my car. What am I going to do with a double CD? At least I have an excuse not to listen to that song.
On the third day of Christmas, my true love gave to me… I mean, how do we even get to the third day of Christmas anyway? Christmas is one f*#king day a year. One. If you want to count Christmas Eve, I guess I’ll let that slide, but that’s only two days at the most. This isn’t Hanukah we’re talking about, and even if it were, Hanukah is eight days. And believe me, Hanukah fans aren’t going to be excited about something that advertises 12 days, but only delivers eight.
On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me… if she gives me four calling birds, three French hens, two turtle doves and a partridge, she also better give me that signed pre-nup I’ve been asking her for.
On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me… and how many novelty versions of this song can we hear? The writers of these songs all think that theirs is absolutely hilarious; that we gladly listen to their kooky take on the classic Christmas hymn all the way through. But the “funny” versions are even worse than the original. Come to think of it, I bet I haven’t heard the original version in 15 years. But there’s certainly another uproarious knockoff coming up right after this commercial break.
On the sixth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me… a night on the town, and I am getting HAMMERED.
On the seventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me… it is New Year’s Day and I am hungover. How about a bottle of Advil and a trashcan next to the bed because there’s no way I’m stumbling to the toilet every time something comes back up today.
On the eighth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me… eight maids a-milking? You actually got me eight maids a-milking? Wow. That’s pretty remarkable. And they didn’t come with any cows, which makes them, like, way better. I don’t really know what to say. Thanks, babe!
On the ninth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me… nine ladies dancing?! Are you serious?! You’re incredible! I can’t believe you’re ok with this. Come again? Yeah, no you’re right – the song’s not so bad after all. I mean, it’s long and kind of annoying and most of the gifts are pretty awful if you think about… you know what, you know what… you’re right, you’re right. It’s a great song. It’s a fantastic song. Could you move a little to the left? Thanks.
On the 10th day of Christmas, my true love… that’s ok, I’m gonna stop you right there. You really shouldn’t invest any more in this relationship. After the last two days, there’s no going back to “us.” You won’t be able to recover from what’s gone on, and I don’t have it in me to try to cover it up, so let’s just go our separate ways before you get hurt.
On the 11th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me… a threatening text message. But I can’t worry about that now. I need to get a hold of a real maid. Like an actual cleaning lady. Preferably an undocumented one because this place needs to be hosed down by someone who knows what they’re doing.
On the 12th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me… a puppy. Which is totally her way of getting back at me because I asked for a food processor.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
The Out-of-Touch, Not to Mention Gossipy, Christmas Letter
Merry Christmas from the Conroys!
Can you believe it’s already the holiday season?! Where does the time go? We know that a lot of you, like us, are struggling through tumultuous financial situations, but we hope you had a year filled with as many blessings as we had. There is so much news it’s hard to know where to begin.
Some of you may have heard me talk this year about the progress I made in my conditioning regime. My personal trainer was quite proud of the two and a half minutes I shaved off my marathon time in the fall compared to my marathon time in the spring. Given what we’re all going through, it’s hard sometimes to justify having a personal trainer, but Clay has obviously helped me make great strides (Oops! No pun intended!). Of course I could have done without making my television debut on the Channel 6 news immediately after the race. How about a few minutes to shower and put on some make up, fellas? LOL! But at least I looked presentable on Channel 10 a few weeks later when their on-the-spot reporter asked questions about the domestic incident at our neighbors’ house. The police arrived when Burt was throwing Connie’s wardrobe out the front door and Channel 10 showed up shortly thereafter. Poor Connie. Her plus-sized clothing was strewn all over the lawn. She’s put on a lot of weight this past year, no doubt due to the stress caused by the rough patch that she and Burt are going through.
Thanks to the unseasonably mild temperatures, we enjoyed many afternoons on the boat this summer. With the economy impacting all of us the way it has, we thought about downgrading to a 40ft. model, but with the girls going off to college in a few years, we realized that we only have a limited number of “family boat days” left. It’s important to make the most of the time we have because you never know what lies ahead. Our family excursions used to include Tom’s good friend, Hank Donaldson, and his wife, but the Donaldsons didn’t join us this year because Hank’s health was in flux. We think he’s had erectile issues the last few months, so our thoughts and prayers go out to him and his family.
On a happier note, our younger daughter, Carla, was the hit of her middle school’s piano recital last month. All of her hard work really paid off as she wowed the audience with her rendition of Bach’s “Minuet in D Minor.” Tom and I were concerned at first about splurging on a new baby grand for Carla to practice on, especially since we’ve all had to cut back lately and our other one is just three years old. But she’s proving that it was a great investment! If you’re thinking of signing your child up for piano lessons, we highly recommend Carla’s teacher, Judy Wanstaff. She is outstanding and impeccably credentialed. Carla’s performance alone was a testament to Judy’s knowledge and overall philosophy. We think she might be a lesbian, but nevertheless she’s a very lovely person.
That convertible Mercedes SL Roadster that we’re all sitting on in the enclosed photo is Taylor’s Christmas gift for her high school track team making nationals. It might seem garish, particularly given the economic hardship that so many of us are going through, but if you knew of all the obstacles her team had to overcome, I think you’d agree she deserves every inch of the leather interior. Taylor’s squad had to go nearly the entire season without their captain, Cindy Cinderbaum, who left the team at the beginning of the season. The rumor going around the school was that Cindy had to quit after she contracted a sexually transmitted disease. I’m not sure which one it was, but even if I knew, that’s not the type of thing you disclose in a Christmas letter. At any rate, I’m sure you’re as inspired as we are by Taylor’s resolve. Now if we can just get her to use those darn turn signals!
We hope to see you all this holiday season. We’ll be doing our typical Christmas ski trip to Aspen, but the rest of December will be pretty quiet for the Conroys. Thanks to all the economic uncertainty, we decided to cancel our New Year’s plans in Hawaii. Too bad we can’t all be part of the “1 percent,” right?
If we don’t get a chance to see you before January, here’s wishing all of you a very Merry Christmas and a prosperous New Year!
Sincerely,
Roxanne, Tom, Taylor and Carla
XOXOXO
Can you believe it’s already the holiday season?! Where does the time go? We know that a lot of you, like us, are struggling through tumultuous financial situations, but we hope you had a year filled with as many blessings as we had. There is so much news it’s hard to know where to begin.
Some of you may have heard me talk this year about the progress I made in my conditioning regime. My personal trainer was quite proud of the two and a half minutes I shaved off my marathon time in the fall compared to my marathon time in the spring. Given what we’re all going through, it’s hard sometimes to justify having a personal trainer, but Clay has obviously helped me make great strides (Oops! No pun intended!). Of course I could have done without making my television debut on the Channel 6 news immediately after the race. How about a few minutes to shower and put on some make up, fellas? LOL! But at least I looked presentable on Channel 10 a few weeks later when their on-the-spot reporter asked questions about the domestic incident at our neighbors’ house. The police arrived when Burt was throwing Connie’s wardrobe out the front door and Channel 10 showed up shortly thereafter. Poor Connie. Her plus-sized clothing was strewn all over the lawn. She’s put on a lot of weight this past year, no doubt due to the stress caused by the rough patch that she and Burt are going through.
Thanks to the unseasonably mild temperatures, we enjoyed many afternoons on the boat this summer. With the economy impacting all of us the way it has, we thought about downgrading to a 40ft. model, but with the girls going off to college in a few years, we realized that we only have a limited number of “family boat days” left. It’s important to make the most of the time we have because you never know what lies ahead. Our family excursions used to include Tom’s good friend, Hank Donaldson, and his wife, but the Donaldsons didn’t join us this year because Hank’s health was in flux. We think he’s had erectile issues the last few months, so our thoughts and prayers go out to him and his family.
On a happier note, our younger daughter, Carla, was the hit of her middle school’s piano recital last month. All of her hard work really paid off as she wowed the audience with her rendition of Bach’s “Minuet in D Minor.” Tom and I were concerned at first about splurging on a new baby grand for Carla to practice on, especially since we’ve all had to cut back lately and our other one is just three years old. But she’s proving that it was a great investment! If you’re thinking of signing your child up for piano lessons, we highly recommend Carla’s teacher, Judy Wanstaff. She is outstanding and impeccably credentialed. Carla’s performance alone was a testament to Judy’s knowledge and overall philosophy. We think she might be a lesbian, but nevertheless she’s a very lovely person.
That convertible Mercedes SL Roadster that we’re all sitting on in the enclosed photo is Taylor’s Christmas gift for her high school track team making nationals. It might seem garish, particularly given the economic hardship that so many of us are going through, but if you knew of all the obstacles her team had to overcome, I think you’d agree she deserves every inch of the leather interior. Taylor’s squad had to go nearly the entire season without their captain, Cindy Cinderbaum, who left the team at the beginning of the season. The rumor going around the school was that Cindy had to quit after she contracted a sexually transmitted disease. I’m not sure which one it was, but even if I knew, that’s not the type of thing you disclose in a Christmas letter. At any rate, I’m sure you’re as inspired as we are by Taylor’s resolve. Now if we can just get her to use those darn turn signals!
We hope to see you all this holiday season. We’ll be doing our typical Christmas ski trip to Aspen, but the rest of December will be pretty quiet for the Conroys. Thanks to all the economic uncertainty, we decided to cancel our New Year’s plans in Hawaii. Too bad we can’t all be part of the “1 percent,” right?
If we don’t get a chance to see you before January, here’s wishing all of you a very Merry Christmas and a prosperous New Year!
Sincerely,
Roxanne, Tom, Taylor and Carla
XOXOXO
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Letters Home from "Occupy Wall Street"
Sep. 21 – Dear Mom and Dad, “Occupy Wall Street” is fantastic. The energy here is absolutely amazing. I haven’t felt a part of something this big since Phish played that free concert at our campus’ “Make Clothes from Hemp” rally. Everyone here can sense that we’re on the verge of real change and it’s inspiring to see how effective non-violent political movements can be. It does kind of suck sleeping on the ground, but what are ya gonna do?
Love,
Trent
Sep. 28 – Dear Mom and Dad, it’s been a while since I had a decent meal, but my enthusiasm remains high. It’s been a little disheartening to see and hear about altercations that some of my fellow protesters have had with the police, but hearing about other “Occupy” movements in other cities around the country, and even the world, only strengthens our resolve.
You might wonder what it is we do here all day, but believe me, the time flies. There’s lots to choose from. On most days, someone shouts things at a big group of us and then we repeat in unison what that person just shouted. During other parts of the day, those of us who can drum, do so. Those of us who can’t drum, do so as well. And my hands are beginning to cramp from all the finger waving, but the unity that it generates makes it all worthwhile.
Don’t forget to feed Mr. Glub Glub and try to change his water every week.
Love,
Trent
P.S. The matter of our “plumbing problems” is totally getting overblown in the media.
Oct. 1 – Dear Mom and Dad, the plumbing problems are no longer overblown. In fact, I think it’s fair to say they’re now being underblown. Wow, what a difference a couple of days can make. It’s actually the b.o. that’s overwhelming everything. You’d think that a few days of rain would help the problem, but it’s only added a mildewey smell to our group.
But at least we’re not getting tear-gassed.
Love,
Trent
Oct. 4 – Dear Mom and Dad, good news! My hygiene concerns have been alleviated, at least for the short term. Shane came to the park and agreed to watch my tent so I could use his apartment to shower. It created a bit of stir, though, as some of those within earshot didn’t approve of me leaving. One guy was fine with it as long as he could use the shower too. Shane was not up for that, so the guy jammed his finger into my chest and shouted, “You’re not a true occupier! Share the wealth, man!” Oddly enough, I think he’s the one that isn’t a true occupier. I’m pretty sure he was living in the park long before the protest started.
At any rate, I smell a whole lot better.
Love,
Trent
Oct. 9 – Dear Mom and Dad, it’s been a rough couple of days. Cliques are starting to form between those who can make clever signs and those who can’t. Even though I lack cardboard and the ability to come up with brief, biting quips about Wall Street employees, I had hoped that my large supply of Sharpies would be seen as valuable. Apparently, though, yellow was a bad color choice.
This of course follows on the heels of getting ostracized from my group for leaving to take a shower, and Dad admitting that he flushed Mr. Glub Glub. Needless to say, my mood has somewhat diminished.
By the way, if I get any mail from the student loan office that has “Third Notification” stamped on the envelope, just toss it. They don’t get serious until the fifth notice anyway.
Love,
Trent
Oct. 29 – Dear Mom and Dad, sorry I haven’t written in a while. I keep waiting for something significant to tell you about. I’m not sure if there’s some kind of collective event or tangible concessions that we’re all waiting to see before we go home. I keep hearing messages that emphasize “empowerment” and “change” and “the 99%,” but it seems that most people are focused on the hacky sack elimination tournament at this point.
Judging from recent progress, it’s pretty clear that I’m going to miss Ted’s Halloween party. That is always the party of the year. Surely we’ll be done, though, by Thanksgiving (if not, say “hi” to Grandma for me). Even more than that, I hope all of this has wrapped by Black Friday. I’m really hoping to get the latest Call of Duty when it goes on sale.
Sorry I’m not texting or even just calling more, but I’d hate for these Sharpies to go to waste.
Love,
Trent
Nov. 5 – Dear Mom and Dad, it looks like I may have to give up my post down here at the park. Craig has threatened to fire me if I don’t show up to work on Monday. I can’t believe he doesn’t appreciate our efforts to improve the plight of the average citizen, and to convince Washington to stop cowing to, and start taxing, giant corporations. Not to mention trying to get our leaders to focus on putting Americans back to work. He’s such a douche.
At least I’ll be home for Thanksgiving.
Love,
Trent
Love,
Trent
Sep. 28 – Dear Mom and Dad, it’s been a while since I had a decent meal, but my enthusiasm remains high. It’s been a little disheartening to see and hear about altercations that some of my fellow protesters have had with the police, but hearing about other “Occupy” movements in other cities around the country, and even the world, only strengthens our resolve.
You might wonder what it is we do here all day, but believe me, the time flies. There’s lots to choose from. On most days, someone shouts things at a big group of us and then we repeat in unison what that person just shouted. During other parts of the day, those of us who can drum, do so. Those of us who can’t drum, do so as well. And my hands are beginning to cramp from all the finger waving, but the unity that it generates makes it all worthwhile.
Don’t forget to feed Mr. Glub Glub and try to change his water every week.
Love,
Trent
P.S. The matter of our “plumbing problems” is totally getting overblown in the media.
Oct. 1 – Dear Mom and Dad, the plumbing problems are no longer overblown. In fact, I think it’s fair to say they’re now being underblown. Wow, what a difference a couple of days can make. It’s actually the b.o. that’s overwhelming everything. You’d think that a few days of rain would help the problem, but it’s only added a mildewey smell to our group.
But at least we’re not getting tear-gassed.
Love,
Trent
Oct. 4 – Dear Mom and Dad, good news! My hygiene concerns have been alleviated, at least for the short term. Shane came to the park and agreed to watch my tent so I could use his apartment to shower. It created a bit of stir, though, as some of those within earshot didn’t approve of me leaving. One guy was fine with it as long as he could use the shower too. Shane was not up for that, so the guy jammed his finger into my chest and shouted, “You’re not a true occupier! Share the wealth, man!” Oddly enough, I think he’s the one that isn’t a true occupier. I’m pretty sure he was living in the park long before the protest started.
At any rate, I smell a whole lot better.
Love,
Trent
Oct. 9 – Dear Mom and Dad, it’s been a rough couple of days. Cliques are starting to form between those who can make clever signs and those who can’t. Even though I lack cardboard and the ability to come up with brief, biting quips about Wall Street employees, I had hoped that my large supply of Sharpies would be seen as valuable. Apparently, though, yellow was a bad color choice.
This of course follows on the heels of getting ostracized from my group for leaving to take a shower, and Dad admitting that he flushed Mr. Glub Glub. Needless to say, my mood has somewhat diminished.
By the way, if I get any mail from the student loan office that has “Third Notification” stamped on the envelope, just toss it. They don’t get serious until the fifth notice anyway.
Love,
Trent
Oct. 29 – Dear Mom and Dad, sorry I haven’t written in a while. I keep waiting for something significant to tell you about. I’m not sure if there’s some kind of collective event or tangible concessions that we’re all waiting to see before we go home. I keep hearing messages that emphasize “empowerment” and “change” and “the 99%,” but it seems that most people are focused on the hacky sack elimination tournament at this point.
Judging from recent progress, it’s pretty clear that I’m going to miss Ted’s Halloween party. That is always the party of the year. Surely we’ll be done, though, by Thanksgiving (if not, say “hi” to Grandma for me). Even more than that, I hope all of this has wrapped by Black Friday. I’m really hoping to get the latest Call of Duty when it goes on sale.
Sorry I’m not texting or even just calling more, but I’d hate for these Sharpies to go to waste.
Love,
Trent
Nov. 5 – Dear Mom and Dad, it looks like I may have to give up my post down here at the park. Craig has threatened to fire me if I don’t show up to work on Monday. I can’t believe he doesn’t appreciate our efforts to improve the plight of the average citizen, and to convince Washington to stop cowing to, and start taxing, giant corporations. Not to mention trying to get our leaders to focus on putting Americans back to work. He’s such a douche.
At least I’ll be home for Thanksgiving.
Love,
Trent
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Fuzzy Memories, Hopefully
I often wonder if my son, Jack, has seen or experienced anything yet that he’ll remember for a long time. He’s only four and a half, so despite his brilliance, I’m still inclined to think he won’t remember most of his life up to this point. But he’s got to be straddling the line of when his long-term memories will form. I can remember images, snapshots if you will, from my life when I was younger than five, but five seems to be the earliest age that I can vividly remember people and events.
So I worry that any day now I might do something that he’ll remember forever. I mean, I certainly teach him things that I hope he holds onto, like to always say ‘please’ and ‘thank you,’ and don’t talk to strangers, but I’m talking about doing something inadvertently that will shape his opinion of me. For instance, if he walks into the living room tomorrow and sees me picking my nose, is he going to remember that for the rest of his life? Will he develop deep-seeded resentment over the fact that I tell him to use a tissue if he needs to blow his nose, only to find me elbow deep without a tissue in sight? Will he become the nose picker in school, constantly wiping boogers under the table and flinging them at girls? It’s a lot of pressure.
Jack is already to the point of grumbling under his breath and saying, “Come on, people,” whenever we’re stopped at a traffic light. So do I need to watch every little thing I say in the car to keep him from eventually developing road rage? Thank goodness his mother ran over that squirrel and not me.
What about the fact that I drink coffee every morning? Will he look at that and think I support the Colombian drug trade? You never know. Kids come to pretty wild conclusions. If you have a sibling, you unquestionably believed throughout your whole childhood that your parents liked him or her more than you, and you most likely continue to think it today. Why? Probably because your dad went to Jimmy’s championship basketball game at the same time your piano recital took place and you’ve hated him for it ever since. Your mom was at the recital, but that wasn’t good enough, was it? Again, a lot of pressure.
So here I am trying to look like a capable dad in front of my son; helping him when he needs it, having answers to all of his questions, and appearing able to take on any situation. However, no matter how hard I turn the damn wrench, the screws that attach his training wheels to his bike keep coming loose. Every time he rides it, he tells me the training wheels are coming loose again. And every time he says it, he looks at me disgustedly, no doubt questioning my sexuality.
I also worry that by mowing the lawn myself, he might think I hate immigrants. Now I know that sounds like a tired joke about lawn care being a popular profession among our Spanish friends to the south, but in all seriousness, the two houses directly across the street from us use a lawn-mowing service that is operated by Hispanic gentlemen. If my son doesn’t notice this now, he will eventually. And he’ll certainly form some sort of opinion about it, possibly an outrageous one. (For the record, I absolutely do not hate immigrants. I just don’t like them to be in my yard.)
Ultimately I want my kids to develop into well-rounded, successful, law-abiding citizens without me having to always set a good example. It’s hard enough to keep adults from forming negative opinions about you based on a completely innocuous moment (A guy can’t seem to text a few photos of his genitals anymore without getting called a pervert), but kids really know how to blow things out of proportion.
With that said, I guess I better come to terms with the fact that I have to be on ever-improving behavior. If I don’t want my son to grow up thinking that I pick my nose, then I’ll just have to do it at work.
So I worry that any day now I might do something that he’ll remember forever. I mean, I certainly teach him things that I hope he holds onto, like to always say ‘please’ and ‘thank you,’ and don’t talk to strangers, but I’m talking about doing something inadvertently that will shape his opinion of me. For instance, if he walks into the living room tomorrow and sees me picking my nose, is he going to remember that for the rest of his life? Will he develop deep-seeded resentment over the fact that I tell him to use a tissue if he needs to blow his nose, only to find me elbow deep without a tissue in sight? Will he become the nose picker in school, constantly wiping boogers under the table and flinging them at girls? It’s a lot of pressure.
Jack is already to the point of grumbling under his breath and saying, “Come on, people,” whenever we’re stopped at a traffic light. So do I need to watch every little thing I say in the car to keep him from eventually developing road rage? Thank goodness his mother ran over that squirrel and not me.
What about the fact that I drink coffee every morning? Will he look at that and think I support the Colombian drug trade? You never know. Kids come to pretty wild conclusions. If you have a sibling, you unquestionably believed throughout your whole childhood that your parents liked him or her more than you, and you most likely continue to think it today. Why? Probably because your dad went to Jimmy’s championship basketball game at the same time your piano recital took place and you’ve hated him for it ever since. Your mom was at the recital, but that wasn’t good enough, was it? Again, a lot of pressure.
So here I am trying to look like a capable dad in front of my son; helping him when he needs it, having answers to all of his questions, and appearing able to take on any situation. However, no matter how hard I turn the damn wrench, the screws that attach his training wheels to his bike keep coming loose. Every time he rides it, he tells me the training wheels are coming loose again. And every time he says it, he looks at me disgustedly, no doubt questioning my sexuality.
I also worry that by mowing the lawn myself, he might think I hate immigrants. Now I know that sounds like a tired joke about lawn care being a popular profession among our Spanish friends to the south, but in all seriousness, the two houses directly across the street from us use a lawn-mowing service that is operated by Hispanic gentlemen. If my son doesn’t notice this now, he will eventually. And he’ll certainly form some sort of opinion about it, possibly an outrageous one. (For the record, I absolutely do not hate immigrants. I just don’t like them to be in my yard.)
Ultimately I want my kids to develop into well-rounded, successful, law-abiding citizens without me having to always set a good example. It’s hard enough to keep adults from forming negative opinions about you based on a completely innocuous moment (A guy can’t seem to text a few photos of his genitals anymore without getting called a pervert), but kids really know how to blow things out of proportion.
With that said, I guess I better come to terms with the fact that I have to be on ever-improving behavior. If I don’t want my son to grow up thinking that I pick my nose, then I’ll just have to do it at work.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Diary Entry From the Spider on My Porch
Dear Diary,
Today was a long day, but the guest web is nearly complete. At this point I'll just be relieved to have it finished. Spinning the guest web has proven a much bigger undertaking than the renovations I made to the main web last year. The addition of the breakfast nook and the downstairs bedroom were tedious, but they don't compare to the work that has gone into spinning a whole new web from the ground up. The plumbing was the real bitch. I really should have hired out for that, but hindsight is 160/160.
The in-laws better appreciate this thing when they're here for the holidays. Actually, I'm already looking past the holidays and into next year when we can spend five months at the summer web. That is my true masterpiece. The design is a classic Victorian with beautifully-crafted dormers and spacious vaulted ceilings. The hundred-year-old model needed a lot of refurbishing, so we got a great deal on it, which allowed me to splurge on some crown molding and light fixtures from the same era.
I wouldn't mind living there year round, especially given the things that have gone on around here lately. The dwelling that we're currently attached to has become increasingly volatile. I feel bad about biting the young human that mistook me for one of those giant, paper Halloween spiders that look like pinatas. He tried to take me inside and tape me to the wall with all his other decorations. I had to defend myself.
And I'm afraid the whole family is beginning to suspect that I'm the reason the cat disappeared. I don't feel bad about that one. The feline's violent reaction when I tried to mate with her was completely uncalled for. All that scratching and hissing was really off-putting. I had no choice but to disembowel it and bury it's carcass in the yard under the cover of night. Damn shame, too. The poor thing will never know what it could have had.
And most recently was the repeated stomping I endured from the largest human in the household. I didn't even get a look at the specimen until it took a few steps back, picked up a brick, covered its eyes and flung the brick in my direction. It looked like a male, but when it ran back inside yelling, "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, oh my God," it sounded decidedly feminine.
I'm not gonna lie - the brick hurt like hell. I had to take some time off afterwards, but the bruises healed rather quickly. All of this was enough to make me seriously consider turning the summer web into our permanent home, but the schools over there leave a lot to be desired.
The Misses and I have to consider things like that now. The doctor says in a little over a week we'll have hundreds of new mouths to feed. So excited!
Today was a long day, but the guest web is nearly complete. At this point I'll just be relieved to have it finished. Spinning the guest web has proven a much bigger undertaking than the renovations I made to the main web last year. The addition of the breakfast nook and the downstairs bedroom were tedious, but they don't compare to the work that has gone into spinning a whole new web from the ground up. The plumbing was the real bitch. I really should have hired out for that, but hindsight is 160/160.
The in-laws better appreciate this thing when they're here for the holidays. Actually, I'm already looking past the holidays and into next year when we can spend five months at the summer web. That is my true masterpiece. The design is a classic Victorian with beautifully-crafted dormers and spacious vaulted ceilings. The hundred-year-old model needed a lot of refurbishing, so we got a great deal on it, which allowed me to splurge on some crown molding and light fixtures from the same era.
I wouldn't mind living there year round, especially given the things that have gone on around here lately. The dwelling that we're currently attached to has become increasingly volatile. I feel bad about biting the young human that mistook me for one of those giant, paper Halloween spiders that look like pinatas. He tried to take me inside and tape me to the wall with all his other decorations. I had to defend myself.
And I'm afraid the whole family is beginning to suspect that I'm the reason the cat disappeared. I don't feel bad about that one. The feline's violent reaction when I tried to mate with her was completely uncalled for. All that scratching and hissing was really off-putting. I had no choice but to disembowel it and bury it's carcass in the yard under the cover of night. Damn shame, too. The poor thing will never know what it could have had.
And most recently was the repeated stomping I endured from the largest human in the household. I didn't even get a look at the specimen until it took a few steps back, picked up a brick, covered its eyes and flung the brick in my direction. It looked like a male, but when it ran back inside yelling, "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, oh my God," it sounded decidedly feminine.
I'm not gonna lie - the brick hurt like hell. I had to take some time off afterwards, but the bruises healed rather quickly. All of this was enough to make me seriously consider turning the summer web into our permanent home, but the schools over there leave a lot to be desired.
The Misses and I have to consider things like that now. The doctor says in a little over a week we'll have hundreds of new mouths to feed. So excited!
Monday, July 18, 2011
I Now Pronounce You...
For those of you who have had a wedding I recently attended or have a wedding coming up, the following is in no way a comment on your specific event. Yours was (or will be) beautiful. This is just a comment on weddings in general and was inspired by current affairs, so please don't be offended. If you are offended, then your cake was bland.
Weddings are fascinating. Not so much to watch, but the fact that they’re so popular. They’ve existed forever, but people still celebrate them as if the idea is brand new. And celebrate them we do. In this country alone they're a $5 trillion a month industry. Over the course of human history, weddings fall only slightly behind the wheel in terms of overall approval rating.
You’d think by now weddings would be more like getting an HD TV. If you don’t have an HD TV at this point, you probably get a lot of confused looks and demeaning comments from those around you (I’m not the only one who suffers through these, right?). Sadly, that part is similar to getting married. If you reach a certain age without marrying, then people start to think something’s wrong. However, no matter how long people think you need to “hurry up and get married,” they will treat you like royalty when the big day finally comes.
Once you get an HD TV, though, could you envision inviting 200 of your closest friends and family members to your house to see it, and expect them to bring gifts? Would you rent or buy clothes for the occasion? Even if you offered them free food and booze, would they attend your HD TV party? Only if you invited people to watch the Super Bowl on your HD TV could you get, maybe, 30 people to come over, but they would still somehow watch the Super Bowl if your HD TV didn’t exist. Probably on their own HD TV.
And yet weddings have this weird hold over us. Look at the Royal Wedding earlier this year. All of England stopped what it was doing to watch it, not to mention way more Americans than what should have. If that many people are going to watch a wedding, shouldn't they do so because they expect to see something different? Like a monkey performing the ceremony, the bridesmaids and groomsmen being replaced by convicts who were brought up on charges of arson and public indecency, or the attendees being divided up not according to whether they know the bride or groom, but by playground basketball rules – shirts and skins.
Granted, weddings haven’t looked exactly the same over the decades. Destination weddings became really popular for a while and are still the preference for a significant number of people. More recently, wedding parties have been taping themselves doing choreographed dances and uploading the videos to the Internet, though this is done so much now that it feels like it’s been going on since the mid-80s. Despite these changes to the procedure, the end result is still the same. Which is why I think more and more states, like New York, are legalizing gay marriage.
You probably think it has something to do with our evolution as a society, and the desire to grant people equal rights no matter their sexual preference. Well, that might have a little something to do with it. But I think it has more to do with all of us just wanting to see some variety. Especially now during the height of wedding season.
I guarantee at least one member of the New York Senate looked at his or her colleagues during the voting process a couple of weeks ago and said, “If I have to attend one more straight wedding this summer, I’m going to shoot myself.” (It was either that or they finally buckled from the threat of celebrities who have sworn they wouldn’t marry until everyone has the right to. Granting equal rights to all mankind is a nice little motivator, but it’s no match for seeing Brad and Angelina finally tie the knot!)
Besides just the variety, think how much easier it would be to attend a gay wedding. If my wife ever says to me, “We have six weddings to attend this year, but the fourth one is a ceremony for two dudes,” my response would be, "Sweet! Our gift can be beer."
Many critics of same sex marriage fear the next form of unions that states will recognize will be between people and animals. First of all, I can't begin to imagine how insulting that is to gay people. Two consenting adults marrying each other is just one step away from an adult marrying the thing that chews on my socks and pees in the yard? And keep in mind, if that thing – my dog – pees in the yard, he’s behaving himself.
But secondly, if people do start marrying animals, I'm fully on board with it. If we get a stack of invitations that include three gay weddings, four celebrity weddings, and one wedding in which Led Zepplin will reunite to play at the reception, I’m still looking most forward to a human/animal ceremony. The only thing I can think of that might create a better story to tell afterwards would be a human/food wedding (see the post immediately below this one).
You’re probably thinking to yourself, "But if you got an invitation from someone who was marrying an animal, wouldn't you be concerned for that person's mental health?" Of course I would, which is why I hope that invitation would come from one of my wife's friends.
Let’s face facts – we all love weddings and we’ll always go to weddings. We’ll tell the bride how beautiful she looks and how happy we are for her (or him) and the groom. We’ll smile and take pictures and wish them a lifetime of joy and togetherness. But the only thing that people are thinking while they’re watching the ceremony is, “There better be an open bar or I’m gonna cut somebody.”
So if weddings suddenly become a bit more captivating by featuring a man marrying an orangutan or a ham sandwich, what’s the harm in that? It’s all about that person’s happiness.
And my entertainment.
Weddings are fascinating. Not so much to watch, but the fact that they’re so popular. They’ve existed forever, but people still celebrate them as if the idea is brand new. And celebrate them we do. In this country alone they're a $5 trillion a month industry. Over the course of human history, weddings fall only slightly behind the wheel in terms of overall approval rating.
You’d think by now weddings would be more like getting an HD TV. If you don’t have an HD TV at this point, you probably get a lot of confused looks and demeaning comments from those around you (I’m not the only one who suffers through these, right?). Sadly, that part is similar to getting married. If you reach a certain age without marrying, then people start to think something’s wrong. However, no matter how long people think you need to “hurry up and get married,” they will treat you like royalty when the big day finally comes.
Once you get an HD TV, though, could you envision inviting 200 of your closest friends and family members to your house to see it, and expect them to bring gifts? Would you rent or buy clothes for the occasion? Even if you offered them free food and booze, would they attend your HD TV party? Only if you invited people to watch the Super Bowl on your HD TV could you get, maybe, 30 people to come over, but they would still somehow watch the Super Bowl if your HD TV didn’t exist. Probably on their own HD TV.
And yet weddings have this weird hold over us. Look at the Royal Wedding earlier this year. All of England stopped what it was doing to watch it, not to mention way more Americans than what should have. If that many people are going to watch a wedding, shouldn't they do so because they expect to see something different? Like a monkey performing the ceremony, the bridesmaids and groomsmen being replaced by convicts who were brought up on charges of arson and public indecency, or the attendees being divided up not according to whether they know the bride or groom, but by playground basketball rules – shirts and skins.
Granted, weddings haven’t looked exactly the same over the decades. Destination weddings became really popular for a while and are still the preference for a significant number of people. More recently, wedding parties have been taping themselves doing choreographed dances and uploading the videos to the Internet, though this is done so much now that it feels like it’s been going on since the mid-80s. Despite these changes to the procedure, the end result is still the same. Which is why I think more and more states, like New York, are legalizing gay marriage.
You probably think it has something to do with our evolution as a society, and the desire to grant people equal rights no matter their sexual preference. Well, that might have a little something to do with it. But I think it has more to do with all of us just wanting to see some variety. Especially now during the height of wedding season.
I guarantee at least one member of the New York Senate looked at his or her colleagues during the voting process a couple of weeks ago and said, “If I have to attend one more straight wedding this summer, I’m going to shoot myself.” (It was either that or they finally buckled from the threat of celebrities who have sworn they wouldn’t marry until everyone has the right to. Granting equal rights to all mankind is a nice little motivator, but it’s no match for seeing Brad and Angelina finally tie the knot!)
Besides just the variety, think how much easier it would be to attend a gay wedding. If my wife ever says to me, “We have six weddings to attend this year, but the fourth one is a ceremony for two dudes,” my response would be, "Sweet! Our gift can be beer."
Many critics of same sex marriage fear the next form of unions that states will recognize will be between people and animals. First of all, I can't begin to imagine how insulting that is to gay people. Two consenting adults marrying each other is just one step away from an adult marrying the thing that chews on my socks and pees in the yard? And keep in mind, if that thing – my dog – pees in the yard, he’s behaving himself.
But secondly, if people do start marrying animals, I'm fully on board with it. If we get a stack of invitations that include three gay weddings, four celebrity weddings, and one wedding in which Led Zepplin will reunite to play at the reception, I’m still looking most forward to a human/animal ceremony. The only thing I can think of that might create a better story to tell afterwards would be a human/food wedding (see the post immediately below this one).
You’re probably thinking to yourself, "But if you got an invitation from someone who was marrying an animal, wouldn't you be concerned for that person's mental health?" Of course I would, which is why I hope that invitation would come from one of my wife's friends.
Let’s face facts – we all love weddings and we’ll always go to weddings. We’ll tell the bride how beautiful she looks and how happy we are for her (or him) and the groom. We’ll smile and take pictures and wish them a lifetime of joy and togetherness. But the only thing that people are thinking while they’re watching the ceremony is, “There better be an open bar or I’m gonna cut somebody.”
So if weddings suddenly become a bit more captivating by featuring a man marrying an orangutan or a ham sandwich, what’s the harm in that? It’s all about that person’s happiness.
And my entertainment.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
The Next Logical Marriage Step
"Welcome, welcome. We are gathered here today to celebrate the joining together of Lyle and Bella in matrimony. We are privileged to bear witness to this grand occasion; this formal expression of true love. And we are privileged that so many have come before them to help pave the way for a union such as theirs to exist. When the nuptials between a man and a block of cheese can be officially recognized by the state of Delaware, it truly is a blessing. Many critics of same sex marriage have long feared that once gay and lesbian partnerships were afforded the same rights as a man and a woman's, then the next logical progression would be the uniting of man and beast. But nope. Turns out it's food.
"And how truly wonderful that is, especially for Lyle and Bella. For these two lovebirds, today is a very, very Gouda day. Ha! Forgive me. That's just a little cheese wedding humor. So let us begin. Lyle, please take Bella's hand."
Lyle picks up the block of cheese from a deli tray held by the Maid of Honor, his disappointed sister.
"Lyle and Bella have chosen to write their own vows. Lyle, when you're ready, we'll let you begin."
Lyle looks intently at the cheese.
"From the moment I first saw you in the display at Trader Joe's, I knew you were the one over all others. The way your cheddary sheen glistened next to the sausages and assorted chips and pretzels. Asiago, Feta, Colby, Gorgonzola - they all paled in comparison. As well as White Cheddar, for obvious reasons. More heralded cheeses didn't capture my heart either, like the snooty Swiss or the belligerent American. Sure, it was hard not to be tempted by the Mozzarella, but she's not really the type you settle down with.
"So I whisked you away, and we spent three glorious days watching the Food Network together. You even forgave me for the night I spent with those slices of Pepper Jack. For that and so many other reasons, I promise to never let you mold or pair you with inferior snack food. I will never turn you into whiz," Lyle pauses to collect himself as he begins to choke up, "and stuff you in a CAN!"
Many of those gathered at the ceremony awkwardly stare at the ground and scratch the back of their heads.
"And I will never insult you by baking a certain cake with your namesake and serving it to dinner guests. I will, however, tout your semi-hard texture, your non-offensive aroma, and your ability to enhance any situation involving beer or bread or bacon. I will keep you by my side during every meal, whether it be the finest occasion or simply eating breakfast in the car on my way to work. In short, I will cherish you for all the rest of my days."
"How lovely," the notary says. “Now for Bella's vows."
The cheese says nothing. A faint cough can be heard from the back.
"Excellent. Now for the rings. Lyle, please place Bella's ring on her... well, on her."
Lyle places an oversized onion ring around the cheese.
“Now repeat after me. With this ring, I thee wed,” the notary says.
“With this ring, I thee wed.”
"Now Bella, please place Lyle's ring on his finger."
Lyle's sister rolls her eyes and reaches in to place the ring on his finger.
“Repeat after me. With this ring, I thee…”
“You know what, I think we’re good,” Lyle interrupts.
"Very well. The rings symbolize Lyle and Bella's commitment to one another; their pledge to live as one. And with that, you are officially wed. So by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride!"
Amidst applause, Lyle kisses the cheese. Gasps replace the clapping as he then takes a bite.
"Well, looks like the groom is a little overcome by the proceedings," the notary nervously laughs.
Lyle takes a larger bite out of his new bride, this time while growling like a large jungle cat.
"Uh... ok. Let's see, the couple asked me to let everyone know there will be a reception with lots of wine and crackers at the West Valley Bingo Hall on the corner of 9th and Mellwood in roughly 30 min..."
Lyle shoves the remaining hunk of cheese into his mouth while emitting a loud, guttural moan.
"Sir, please. There are children present."
The crowd looks on in horror as Lyle brushes his hands on his jacket and wipes his mouth with his tie.
"Well, then," the notary says. "Thank you all for joining us."
"And how truly wonderful that is, especially for Lyle and Bella. For these two lovebirds, today is a very, very Gouda day. Ha! Forgive me. That's just a little cheese wedding humor. So let us begin. Lyle, please take Bella's hand."
Lyle picks up the block of cheese from a deli tray held by the Maid of Honor, his disappointed sister.
"Lyle and Bella have chosen to write their own vows. Lyle, when you're ready, we'll let you begin."
Lyle looks intently at the cheese.
"From the moment I first saw you in the display at Trader Joe's, I knew you were the one over all others. The way your cheddary sheen glistened next to the sausages and assorted chips and pretzels. Asiago, Feta, Colby, Gorgonzola - they all paled in comparison. As well as White Cheddar, for obvious reasons. More heralded cheeses didn't capture my heart either, like the snooty Swiss or the belligerent American. Sure, it was hard not to be tempted by the Mozzarella, but she's not really the type you settle down with.
"So I whisked you away, and we spent three glorious days watching the Food Network together. You even forgave me for the night I spent with those slices of Pepper Jack. For that and so many other reasons, I promise to never let you mold or pair you with inferior snack food. I will never turn you into whiz," Lyle pauses to collect himself as he begins to choke up, "and stuff you in a CAN!"
Many of those gathered at the ceremony awkwardly stare at the ground and scratch the back of their heads.
"And I will never insult you by baking a certain cake with your namesake and serving it to dinner guests. I will, however, tout your semi-hard texture, your non-offensive aroma, and your ability to enhance any situation involving beer or bread or bacon. I will keep you by my side during every meal, whether it be the finest occasion or simply eating breakfast in the car on my way to work. In short, I will cherish you for all the rest of my days."
"How lovely," the notary says. “Now for Bella's vows."
The cheese says nothing. A faint cough can be heard from the back.
"Excellent. Now for the rings. Lyle, please place Bella's ring on her... well, on her."
Lyle places an oversized onion ring around the cheese.
“Now repeat after me. With this ring, I thee wed,” the notary says.
“With this ring, I thee wed.”
"Now Bella, please place Lyle's ring on his finger."
Lyle's sister rolls her eyes and reaches in to place the ring on his finger.
“Repeat after me. With this ring, I thee…”
“You know what, I think we’re good,” Lyle interrupts.
"Very well. The rings symbolize Lyle and Bella's commitment to one another; their pledge to live as one. And with that, you are officially wed. So by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride!"
Amidst applause, Lyle kisses the cheese. Gasps replace the clapping as he then takes a bite.
"Well, looks like the groom is a little overcome by the proceedings," the notary nervously laughs.
Lyle takes a larger bite out of his new bride, this time while growling like a large jungle cat.
"Uh... ok. Let's see, the couple asked me to let everyone know there will be a reception with lots of wine and crackers at the West Valley Bingo Hall on the corner of 9th and Mellwood in roughly 30 min..."
Lyle shoves the remaining hunk of cheese into his mouth while emitting a loud, guttural moan.
"Sir, please. There are children present."
The crowd looks on in horror as Lyle brushes his hands on his jacket and wipes his mouth with his tie.
"Well, then," the notary says. "Thank you all for joining us."
Friday, June 10, 2011
The (Weiner) Gate Bursts Open
I know, I know, he’s doing it again. You don’t have to tell me, I’m the one in all the pictures.
Let me just start by apologizing on his behalf. I know he’s already done that, but I feel like I need to say it too. Make no mistake, though, I’m not apologizing for me. It’s not like I had a choice in the matter. You think he looked down and asked, “Hey Oscar, you alright with this?” before he thrust me into the spotlight? For that matter, do you think he’s ever asked me that before the camera bulbs start flashing?
Of course this isn’t the first time he’s passed around pictures of me, don’t be naïve. Ask his mom how many times she got a call from the principal. Polaroids weren’t even his preferred method back in the day. His true joy was having me make a live appearance. Frog dissection day in Biology class, Wiffle Ball day in gym class, and don’t forget the day his English class finally got to the “Et tu, Brute?” line in Julius Caesar. Believe me, you people aren’t seeing anything that hasn’t long ago passed through the halls of James Madison High.
And take it easy with all the jokes, will you? If you want to poke fun at him for all his preening or terrible decision making, go right ahead. But wherever you come down on the argument concerning my stature, please keep it to yourself. All I can say is, “It is what it is.” (By the way, I coined that phrase. I was left with little choice given all the times he answered the door, unencumbered by clinging cotton briefs, to a pack of giggling co-eds.) I admit I’m no Greg Oden, but then I’m no Brett Favre either.
And speaking of celebrities who conveniently are no longer in the news – Arnold Schwarzenegger, have I got a bone to pick with you. I can’t believe a couple of photos of me have knocked you completely out of the news. You impregnated your maid! You have a son that’s been running around for 14 years that nobody knew was yours!! If you were still in office, I wouldn’t have even made page 12 of The New York Post. You probably won’t agree with this at the moment, but you are one lucky s.o.b.
(Sigh). I apologize for being a little testy.
As for the media, let me offer you a tip: enough with using “gate.” Every scandal is a gate. Try some creativity! You could have a field day with this story. He Tweeted the pictures of me, right? So if you must use gate, why not TWeinergate? And weren’t a couple of the pictures taken with a mobile phone camera? So how about you introduce every new segment with, “And now for more sordid details on the Weinermobile story.” Coming up with something more clever than Weinergate shouldn’t be that… what’s the word I’m looking for? Difficult? That doesn’t sound right. At any rate, you get my point.
One last thing: he wasn’t yanking your chain when he said he’d never met any of the women that he talked to online. That’s the truth. He doesn’t even like women. Whoops! I think I’ve said too much.
Let me just start by apologizing on his behalf. I know he’s already done that, but I feel like I need to say it too. Make no mistake, though, I’m not apologizing for me. It’s not like I had a choice in the matter. You think he looked down and asked, “Hey Oscar, you alright with this?” before he thrust me into the spotlight? For that matter, do you think he’s ever asked me that before the camera bulbs start flashing?
Of course this isn’t the first time he’s passed around pictures of me, don’t be naïve. Ask his mom how many times she got a call from the principal. Polaroids weren’t even his preferred method back in the day. His true joy was having me make a live appearance. Frog dissection day in Biology class, Wiffle Ball day in gym class, and don’t forget the day his English class finally got to the “Et tu, Brute?” line in Julius Caesar. Believe me, you people aren’t seeing anything that hasn’t long ago passed through the halls of James Madison High.
And take it easy with all the jokes, will you? If you want to poke fun at him for all his preening or terrible decision making, go right ahead. But wherever you come down on the argument concerning my stature, please keep it to yourself. All I can say is, “It is what it is.” (By the way, I coined that phrase. I was left with little choice given all the times he answered the door, unencumbered by clinging cotton briefs, to a pack of giggling co-eds.) I admit I’m no Greg Oden, but then I’m no Brett Favre either.
And speaking of celebrities who conveniently are no longer in the news – Arnold Schwarzenegger, have I got a bone to pick with you. I can’t believe a couple of photos of me have knocked you completely out of the news. You impregnated your maid! You have a son that’s been running around for 14 years that nobody knew was yours!! If you were still in office, I wouldn’t have even made page 12 of The New York Post. You probably won’t agree with this at the moment, but you are one lucky s.o.b.
(Sigh). I apologize for being a little testy.
As for the media, let me offer you a tip: enough with using “gate.” Every scandal is a gate. Try some creativity! You could have a field day with this story. He Tweeted the pictures of me, right? So if you must use gate, why not TWeinergate? And weren’t a couple of the pictures taken with a mobile phone camera? So how about you introduce every new segment with, “And now for more sordid details on the Weinermobile story.” Coming up with something more clever than Weinergate shouldn’t be that… what’s the word I’m looking for? Difficult? That doesn’t sound right. At any rate, you get my point.
One last thing: he wasn’t yanking your chain when he said he’d never met any of the women that he talked to online. That’s the truth. He doesn’t even like women. Whoops! I think I’ve said too much.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
We'll Be Fine As Long As They Don't Unionize
For almost 18 months, my wife and I have owned a house. It’s not our first home, but it is our first house. With a yard. In a neighborhood. Which means a good portion of the people running around the neighborhood are kids. Most of them seem like normal, well-rounded people. Only two have given me cause to be concerned about the future.
I recently learned about the ambition of one of the neighborhood kids – the 7-year-old girl across the street. Her name is Kate and she knocked on our door on a Wednesday evening and asked if she could walk our dog for some money. She needed to make some cash so she could save up for a violin or some shoes or a couple of other things (she hadn’t really decided on just one thing yet). Begrudgingly, I said “sure.”
I say begrudgingly because I didn't know how much would be appropriate to pay her. Or how often she would expect to receive payment for walking the dog. Or if this would impede my ability to pay the mortgage. Kids seem to make a lot more money these days for doing, well, nothing. I know parents who’ve given their kids shares of Google for losing their first baby tooth. When I lost my first baby tooth, the tooth fairy left me a pamphlet on how to avoid gingivitis.
So, to buy myself (pun intended) some time to figure out how to handle this, I told Kate to come back on Saturday to walk the dog. From her reaction, she must have thought there was a pretty decent chance I was going to say, “No, you can’t walk my dog” because she threw her hands in the air and ran back across the street cheering as if her school had permanently cancelled math class (you know how girls are with math). After she left, I decided I would have her walk Moose, the dog, up and down our street one time and for this I would pay her a hearty $5.
Moose doesn’t exactly mirror his namesake. He weighs somewhere between 8-9 lbs. and is whiter than the line at a Rush Limbaugh book signing. Given his size, Kate probably wouldn’t lose control of him, but he’d make her work at it, and being only 7 years old, there’s always the chance she’d ditch him for a bunny or a hamster (our neighborhood is overrun with stray hamsters). So, I wanted to keep the task short and simple.
She was at our doorstep by 9 a.m. on Saturday, eager and up to the task. I told her how far to take him and what she would earn upon their return. Her face lit up as she immediately imagined all the violins, violin cases, bows and lessons she could buy for $5. Unfortunately it had been raining all morning, so I asked her to come back later and walk Moose after the ground had dried; at least a few hours. Having taken everything she’s learned in school about telling time, Kate returned 20 minutes later. There was no delaying it.
Moose was eager too, either for a walk or for the meat he thought Kate had in her pockets, because he sprinted out the front door and leapt at her, scratching her leg in the process. Her enthusiasm went a little south after that. Moose’s scratch drew blood, she screamed, and my wife had to walk her back home. Surprisingly, while her enthusiasm was diminished, it wasn’t completely extinguished. Brigitte and I thought for sure the dog-walking experiment was over before it started, but through her sobs, Kate asked if she could walk Moose “a little later." Brigitte assured her that she didn’t have to walk him at all, but that violin wasn’t going to buy itself, and her mom said that Kate was also hoping to get over her fear of dogs (of course).
So after she went inside to get cleaned up, our whole family, plus Kate, took Moose for a walk. Brigitte held the leash and Kate held my four-year-old son’s hand, at his insistence (he’s got a thing for older women). Afterwards, I paid Kate $7. Part of it was to go toward a violin, part of it toward more band aids, and part of it was gratitude for not filing workman’s comp.
In case that sounds cheap, let me point out that I’d be happy to continue paying her, but she hasn’t come back. That’s ok, though. Either way, I have confidence in our future workforce.
I recently learned about the ambition of one of the neighborhood kids – the 7-year-old girl across the street. Her name is Kate and she knocked on our door on a Wednesday evening and asked if she could walk our dog for some money. She needed to make some cash so she could save up for a violin or some shoes or a couple of other things (she hadn’t really decided on just one thing yet). Begrudgingly, I said “sure.”
I say begrudgingly because I didn't know how much would be appropriate to pay her. Or how often she would expect to receive payment for walking the dog. Or if this would impede my ability to pay the mortgage. Kids seem to make a lot more money these days for doing, well, nothing. I know parents who’ve given their kids shares of Google for losing their first baby tooth. When I lost my first baby tooth, the tooth fairy left me a pamphlet on how to avoid gingivitis.
So, to buy myself (pun intended) some time to figure out how to handle this, I told Kate to come back on Saturday to walk the dog. From her reaction, she must have thought there was a pretty decent chance I was going to say, “No, you can’t walk my dog” because she threw her hands in the air and ran back across the street cheering as if her school had permanently cancelled math class (you know how girls are with math). After she left, I decided I would have her walk Moose, the dog, up and down our street one time and for this I would pay her a hearty $5.
Moose doesn’t exactly mirror his namesake. He weighs somewhere between 8-9 lbs. and is whiter than the line at a Rush Limbaugh book signing. Given his size, Kate probably wouldn’t lose control of him, but he’d make her work at it, and being only 7 years old, there’s always the chance she’d ditch him for a bunny or a hamster (our neighborhood is overrun with stray hamsters). So, I wanted to keep the task short and simple.
She was at our doorstep by 9 a.m. on Saturday, eager and up to the task. I told her how far to take him and what she would earn upon their return. Her face lit up as she immediately imagined all the violins, violin cases, bows and lessons she could buy for $5. Unfortunately it had been raining all morning, so I asked her to come back later and walk Moose after the ground had dried; at least a few hours. Having taken everything she’s learned in school about telling time, Kate returned 20 minutes later. There was no delaying it.
Moose was eager too, either for a walk or for the meat he thought Kate had in her pockets, because he sprinted out the front door and leapt at her, scratching her leg in the process. Her enthusiasm went a little south after that. Moose’s scratch drew blood, she screamed, and my wife had to walk her back home. Surprisingly, while her enthusiasm was diminished, it wasn’t completely extinguished. Brigitte and I thought for sure the dog-walking experiment was over before it started, but through her sobs, Kate asked if she could walk Moose “a little later." Brigitte assured her that she didn’t have to walk him at all, but that violin wasn’t going to buy itself, and her mom said that Kate was also hoping to get over her fear of dogs (of course).
So after she went inside to get cleaned up, our whole family, plus Kate, took Moose for a walk. Brigitte held the leash and Kate held my four-year-old son’s hand, at his insistence (he’s got a thing for older women). Afterwards, I paid Kate $7. Part of it was to go toward a violin, part of it toward more band aids, and part of it was gratitude for not filing workman’s comp.
In case that sounds cheap, let me point out that I’d be happy to continue paying her, but she hasn’t come back. That’s ok, though. Either way, I have confidence in our future workforce.
Friday, May 20, 2011
Rapture, Take Me Away
Since I will undoubtedly be one of those chosen to go up when the Rapture strikes tomorrow, I just want to wish you all good luck and let you know what kind of torment you can expect during your remaining time on Earth:
The only e-mails you’ll receive will be marked ‘urgent’ even though they couldn’t be less so.
Toddlers will sleep for no more than 45 minutes during any given 24 hour period.
The next long-running political saga that refuses to die will be Donald Trump trying to prove that his hair was born in the United States.
It’s learned that Oprah quit doing her show because she received advance notice that she would be one of the chosen ones. Those left behind, however, continue to get their fill as re-runs of her show air on every channel 24/7.
The only options that remain for pets are cats and skunks.
Airplanes will no longer have window or aisle seats. Middle seats for everyone!
Everyone also gets the same two next-door neighbors: Glenn Beck to the right, Keith Olbermann to the left. Moving doesn’t change this.
Baseball is the only sport still played and the Chicago Cubs win the World Series every year for the rest of eternity. Not a single Cubs fan gets to see them win, however, as none of them will be left behind.
The rest of the world’s view of the United States fails to improve as we elect Kid Rock as our President-for-Life.
Skunks soon top the charts as the world’s most popular pet.
Those choosing to text are forced to do so using phones that have 3-4 letters of the alphabet on each button. Then you can see what I have to deal with every time one of you f*!#ers sends me a text message.
Nearly all of the Facebook posts made by your friends who were among the chosen ones will say, “This is great, sorry you can’t be here!” The only time they take a break from this is when they post pictures of their kids.
Hard liquor will cease to exist. Anyone who orders beer will be served wine. Anyone who orders wine will be served sweat from a cow, though this is not likely to bother many of these people as few will be able to tell the difference. Soda will still exist, but no matter which brand you choose, they will all taste like Diet Sprite. And coffee will cost $150 a cup.
The only e-mails you’ll receive will be marked ‘urgent’ even though they couldn’t be less so.
Toddlers will sleep for no more than 45 minutes during any given 24 hour period.
The next long-running political saga that refuses to die will be Donald Trump trying to prove that his hair was born in the United States.
It’s learned that Oprah quit doing her show because she received advance notice that she would be one of the chosen ones. Those left behind, however, continue to get their fill as re-runs of her show air on every channel 24/7.
The only options that remain for pets are cats and skunks.
Airplanes will no longer have window or aisle seats. Middle seats for everyone!
Everyone also gets the same two next-door neighbors: Glenn Beck to the right, Keith Olbermann to the left. Moving doesn’t change this.
Baseball is the only sport still played and the Chicago Cubs win the World Series every year for the rest of eternity. Not a single Cubs fan gets to see them win, however, as none of them will be left behind.
The rest of the world’s view of the United States fails to improve as we elect Kid Rock as our President-for-Life.
Skunks soon top the charts as the world’s most popular pet.
Those choosing to text are forced to do so using phones that have 3-4 letters of the alphabet on each button. Then you can see what I have to deal with every time one of you f*!#ers sends me a text message.
Nearly all of the Facebook posts made by your friends who were among the chosen ones will say, “This is great, sorry you can’t be here!” The only time they take a break from this is when they post pictures of their kids.
Hard liquor will cease to exist. Anyone who orders beer will be served wine. Anyone who orders wine will be served sweat from a cow, though this is not likely to bother many of these people as few will be able to tell the difference. Soda will still exist, but no matter which brand you choose, they will all taste like Diet Sprite. And coffee will cost $150 a cup.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Common Rejections from Magazine/Newspaper/Online Editors (And What They Really Mean)
Thank you for your entry, but I’m afraid we have to pass. Please feel free to try again. (You can try again, but you better make the next one waaaay better.)
Thank you for your submission, however it’s just not the right fit for us. (It fits just fine with the kind of material we run, but we Googled you and you don’t appear to be famous, nor does it look like you’ve had a book published. Unfortunately, we only run material submitted by those who clearly don’t need the exposure.)
We thank you for your submission, but unfortunately we will not be using it. (To be perfectly honest, we didn’t read your submission. We have way more entries than we could ever get through and, let’s face it, “Angry Birds” isn’t going to play itself.)
We enjoyed your piece, but we are not accepting unsolicited submissions at this time. (I know it looks like we accept unsolicited submissions all the time because every week we print pieces from writers who aren’t on staff or even experienced freelancers, but… well… what do you want us to say? Do you really want to hear that it sucks? Ask yourself if that would really make you feel better.)
Despite its obvious merit, we will not be able to use your piece. (It’s pretty clear that we don’t actually think it has merit, otherwise we would publish it. We’re just trying to let you down easy because we don’t like to be mean. Unlike those other guys who are obvious liars.)
We appreciate you taking the time to submit your entry. It is quite amusing, however we respectfully decline. (Again, the whole “We don’t like to be mean” thing.)
You clearly have a very unique writing style and are bound for great things. (You weren’t educated on the East Coast, were you?)
We feel the timing is not quite right. (Just like the last time you submitted something wasn't the right time and the next time won't be the right time either. Face it, you suck. I mean, the "timing' argument is complete bullshit. If it's not the right time, why couldn't we just keep what you wrote until it WAS the right time? Know what I mean? Let's say in the middle of August, you submitted something about Christmas. Obviously we wouldn't run it during the middle of August, but if it was good, there's no reason we couldn't hang onto it until Christmas, right? If you buy this whole "the timing isn't right" rejection, then you are a moron.)
Thank you for your latest submission! We think it’s great and we would love to publish it in our next issue. (Psych! Ha ha, sucker.)
Best of luck next time. (Ok, you really need to take a hint.)
No thanks. (Dude! Fuck. Off.)
Thank you for your submission, however it’s just not the right fit for us. (It fits just fine with the kind of material we run, but we Googled you and you don’t appear to be famous, nor does it look like you’ve had a book published. Unfortunately, we only run material submitted by those who clearly don’t need the exposure.)
We thank you for your submission, but unfortunately we will not be using it. (To be perfectly honest, we didn’t read your submission. We have way more entries than we could ever get through and, let’s face it, “Angry Birds” isn’t going to play itself.)
We enjoyed your piece, but we are not accepting unsolicited submissions at this time. (I know it looks like we accept unsolicited submissions all the time because every week we print pieces from writers who aren’t on staff or even experienced freelancers, but… well… what do you want us to say? Do you really want to hear that it sucks? Ask yourself if that would really make you feel better.)
Despite its obvious merit, we will not be able to use your piece. (It’s pretty clear that we don’t actually think it has merit, otherwise we would publish it. We’re just trying to let you down easy because we don’t like to be mean. Unlike those other guys who are obvious liars.)
We appreciate you taking the time to submit your entry. It is quite amusing, however we respectfully decline. (Again, the whole “We don’t like to be mean” thing.)
You clearly have a very unique writing style and are bound for great things. (You weren’t educated on the East Coast, were you?)
We feel the timing is not quite right. (Just like the last time you submitted something wasn't the right time and the next time won't be the right time either. Face it, you suck. I mean, the "timing' argument is complete bullshit. If it's not the right time, why couldn't we just keep what you wrote until it WAS the right time? Know what I mean? Let's say in the middle of August, you submitted something about Christmas. Obviously we wouldn't run it during the middle of August, but if it was good, there's no reason we couldn't hang onto it until Christmas, right? If you buy this whole "the timing isn't right" rejection, then you are a moron.)
Thank you for your latest submission! We think it’s great and we would love to publish it in our next issue. (Psych! Ha ha, sucker.)
Best of luck next time. (Ok, you really need to take a hint.)
No thanks. (Dude! Fuck. Off.)
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Disaster on Deadline
*This post was crafted before the Midwest and Southeastern parts of the country were struck by devastating tornadoes, and is in no way intended to mock those events.
Reporter John Davies’ phone rings.
“Hello?”
“John, how’s the story coming?”
“Still waiting on the fire department to get here so I can try to get a statement on the cause of the fire. I can hear the sirens, so it shouldn’t be too much longer. Hang on, hang on… The television news crews that are down here are all packing up and hurrying into their vans. They’re shouting something… Oh crap, they’re yelling ‘tornado.’ I’m gonna have to call you back.”
A fire broke out at the Morning Songbird manufacturing plant on the corner of 5th and Wiltshire in downtown Ridgeville Tuesday at approximately 9 p.m. The fire quickly consumed the second and third floors of the factory, billowing thick, black smoke into the sky. Crew members working at the plant at the time the fire broke out confirmed that everyone made it out safely.
The fire raged on for nearly 30 minutes before the fire department arrived, as a tornado that moved through neighboring Harbor Township kept the trucks from getting near the area for roughly 10 – 15 minutes. In addition to the fire spreading to the Our Dough For Yours bakery next door, a number of homes in the three to four blocks surrounding the plant were damaged due to the storm.
Davies’ phone rings again.
“Hello?”
“John, how’s everything going out there? Are you alright?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. I hid out in the bathroom of a Wendy’s until the tornado passed. But now I have to alter the story a little and I still need to talk to the fire department. I’d also like to get some quotes from some of the folks living in the area. Pretty wild night. Oh, hold on. One of the news vans is pulling up to my car…
“Uh, ok, well now it seems the tornado hit the Ridgeville dam and they’re saying parts of the dam have burst open. I need to head up there to see what’s going on.”
“John, you’re on deadline here. I need to get that story ASAP!”
“I know, I know. Let me call you back.”
A tornado ripped through the northern part of Ridgeville last night, destroying multiple homes in and around Harbor Township, delaying the fire department from reaching a fire at the Morning Songbird manufacturing plant and shredding the city’s dam, which sent the Abandoned Tire River pouring into downtown Ridgeville.
In addition to the number of homes and businesses that were blasted by the water, many of the animals in outdoor habitats at the city zoo were lifted up and pushed out of their enclosures by the raging rapids. The lone bright side to the unfortunate series of events is that the flood put out the fires at the plant and the Our Dough For Yours bakery next door.
Davies answers his phone again.
“John, listen, I need that story. Is it ready to go?”
“Tom, it is mass chaos out here. You’ve never seen anything like this. The tornado did in fact hit the dam, water poured into the city, and now there are jungle cats and wild birds all over the streets. I’ve had to completely re-write the lead, I’m waiting for the zoo director to get off the phone with the mayor so I can get a comment on the situation, and I still haven’t talked to any of the residents who were hit by the storm or the flood. Uh oh. Oh God. Oh God! I gotta go. AAAAHHHHHHH!”
Ten minutes later Davies calls his boss at the copydesk.
“John, the only thing I want to hear from you is that you sent your story in five minutes ago.”
“A bear shit on me, Tom.”
“What?!”
“You heard me. I was sitting on the hood of my car, talking to you and going over my notes, when tigers, giraffes and some kind of platypus-looking things started running past. Then I saw a bear heading straight for me. He jumped on the roof of my car and then he jumped over me and let out some kind of horrible… I don’t know, bear scream… as shit rained down on me before he hit the ground again. Have you ever had a bear shit on you, Tom?”
“No.”
“I have four kids and none of them have ever shit on me before, Tom.”
“Ok, ok. Look, I know you’ve had a crazy night. Why don’t you take a few minutes to clean yourself up and just get the story in when you can. We can push it back a little given everything that’s happened tonight.”
“Thank you.”
Thirty minutes later Davies answers his phone one last time.
“Tom, good news – I just finished it. I’d like to have a few more quotes, and I’m not sure I captured the true feel of what it’s like out here, but I think it’ll work.”
“Forget it. It’s over. I just got the call from corporate. They’re shutting us down, effective immediately. There will be no more editions of the paper.”
“What?! That’s it?! Does that mean I’m out of a job?”
“Sorry man. I’m sure there’s something on the Internet you can contribute to. It’s been real.”
Click.
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Future Sundays Without the NFL
Location: A dance studio
“Alright, now really put your heeps into eet! And one… and tu… and sree… Hold eet, hold eet. Meester Thomas, you look like a feesh.”
“I’m doing what you’re doing. With your hips and such.”
“No, no, no. My body is alive wiss passion! You move your legs like you have gaerle scouts tied to zem. Let me show you wiss Meeses Thomas.”
(Enrique takes Mrs. Thomas’ hand and pulls her into him. Heat instantly emanates from their bodies as they glide around the dance floor as one)
“You see? You must feel za rhythm pump sroo your bones!”
(Mrs. Thomas returns to her husband)
“Now one… and tu… and sree… Hold eet, hold eet. Zat’s a leetle baytter, but your face… eet’s so dull. Zere’s no expression, no feeling. You need to look as if you have never seen a woo-man before, but now you’re dancing wiss za most beautiful woo-man in za waerld! You cannot believe your goood for-choon. She excites you, and you must have her. Nah-sing will stop you from taking her right here on dis dance floor!”
(Pause)
“I’m a claims adjuster.
(Awkward silence)
“Can we take a nacho break?”
Location: Midtown Mall
“Ooh, hon, what do you think of this one?”
“Uh, it’s nice, I guess.”
“This one will match the colors in the kitchen, but I’m thinking of changing the colors altogether, so maybe I should pick one that’s a bit more vibrant.”
“It’s just a tablecloth. How many people are going to see it?”
“Your mother will see it. And it will be one more thing she’ll delight in criticizing me about.”
“Yeah, I’ll do it when we get home.”
“What? You’re not listening. Why are you staring at your BlackBerry? There are no scores to check and no fantasy trades you need to make.”
“Just a habit, I guess. Sorry I wasn’t listening. I was thinking I should probably mow the lawn this afternoon.”
“It’s November. You haven’t had to mow the lawn in two months. Now, let’s go look at place settings.”
“(mumbling) I bet Belichick isn’t looking at place settings.”
“Belichick? Is that another one of your obnoxious poker buddies?”
“Nevermind.”
Location: A cooking class on the Upper East Side
“Why did you bring me here? I hate cooking!!”
Location: Somewhere in Virginia
“Hey Mike, you got your money in yet?”
“Yeah, I’m all set.”
“That bitch of yours gonna win tonight?”
“You know it. Got her eyes on the prize!”
“Do you think Coach will be pissed if he finds out you went to another dogfight?”
“Nah, he’s cool.”
“Alright, now really put your heeps into eet! And one… and tu… and sree… Hold eet, hold eet. Meester Thomas, you look like a feesh.”
“I’m doing what you’re doing. With your hips and such.”
“No, no, no. My body is alive wiss passion! You move your legs like you have gaerle scouts tied to zem. Let me show you wiss Meeses Thomas.”
(Enrique takes Mrs. Thomas’ hand and pulls her into him. Heat instantly emanates from their bodies as they glide around the dance floor as one)
“You see? You must feel za rhythm pump sroo your bones!”
(Mrs. Thomas returns to her husband)
“Now one… and tu… and sree… Hold eet, hold eet. Zat’s a leetle baytter, but your face… eet’s so dull. Zere’s no expression, no feeling. You need to look as if you have never seen a woo-man before, but now you’re dancing wiss za most beautiful woo-man in za waerld! You cannot believe your goood for-choon. She excites you, and you must have her. Nah-sing will stop you from taking her right here on dis dance floor!”
(Pause)
“I’m a claims adjuster.
(Awkward silence)
“Can we take a nacho break?”
Location: Midtown Mall
“Ooh, hon, what do you think of this one?”
“Uh, it’s nice, I guess.”
“This one will match the colors in the kitchen, but I’m thinking of changing the colors altogether, so maybe I should pick one that’s a bit more vibrant.”
“It’s just a tablecloth. How many people are going to see it?”
“Your mother will see it. And it will be one more thing she’ll delight in criticizing me about.”
“Yeah, I’ll do it when we get home.”
“What? You’re not listening. Why are you staring at your BlackBerry? There are no scores to check and no fantasy trades you need to make.”
“Just a habit, I guess. Sorry I wasn’t listening. I was thinking I should probably mow the lawn this afternoon.”
“It’s November. You haven’t had to mow the lawn in two months. Now, let’s go look at place settings.”
“(mumbling) I bet Belichick isn’t looking at place settings.”
“Belichick? Is that another one of your obnoxious poker buddies?”
“Nevermind.”
Location: A cooking class on the Upper East Side
“Why did you bring me here? I hate cooking!!”
Location: Somewhere in Virginia
“Hey Mike, you got your money in yet?”
“Yeah, I’m all set.”
“That bitch of yours gonna win tonight?”
“You know it. Got her eyes on the prize!”
“Do you think Coach will be pissed if he finds out you went to another dogfight?”
“Nah, he’s cool.”
Friday, March 18, 2011
Probably Wouldn't Make a Very Popular Comic Book
I don’t watch a lot of movies these days, but I still know that super heroes have been popular protagonists for years now. I can’t imagine there are any heroes or characters from popular teenage novels left that haven’t had their stories told on the big screen, but I have a hunch that the theaters will be awash with superhero movies again this summer.
(That’s only partly true. I have more than a hunch. I looked it up on the Internet. Here’s just a few that are coming out soon – Thor, X-Men: First Class, Green Lantern, Transformers: Dark of the Moon [not sure if Pink Floyd signed off on this], Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part II, Captain America, and The Three Musketeers)
Today, in fact, there’s a movie coming out – Limitless – in which a guy develops the power of awesomeness simply by taking a pill. It doesn’t technically qualify as a superhero movie because the guy doesn’t have superpowers, he just shows the audience what life is actually like if you’re good looking and you land a role in a terrible movie.
Some of these movies do well, some tank. The similarities among those that do well seem to be a good story, good acting and special effects that are cool, but don’t overshadow the plot. And from what I can tell, there doesn’t seem to be a correlation between how much the audience identifies with the superhero and how well the movie does.
If I had to identify with the hero in order to see the movie, I’d never leave the couch. I’m not sure what this says about my level of ambition, but if I could choose to have a superpower, I wouldn’t pick something very impressive. Right now I’m thinking it’d just be nice to have the ability to pee in a urinal without having it splash back on me.
I do know this – if I could make things appear just by speaking their name, I wouldn’t sing the jingle of my insurance carrier, a la the latest State Farm commercials. Well, I take that back. If I were in an accident, then I might magically have an insurance rep appear on the scene (or I might say the words ‘new car’ and not fool with filing a bunch of accident reports, but whatever). Otherwise, if I had the ability to make things appear just by saying their name, I can’t help but think once again of how I could take advantage of that power in a public restroom.
For instance, say I’m using one, alone, when all of a sudden someone else walks in. If certain intestinal matters make it necessary, it’d be nice to say ‘built-in jukebox’ and have my own private music machine appear next to the toilet paper dispenser. Then I could reach over, punch up A-12, and ensure that the only noise ringing through the stalls would be AC/DC’s “Thunderstruck.” I avoid embarrassment and the guy who walks in only hears what he wants to (it’s a great song). We both win.
But my super-power wish list doesn’t end at the potty. I’d also like to make the digital channel system on my TV less complicated. My cable provider now only offers channels through the digital input option on users’ TVs, and instead of 11, 25 or 32, the channels are listed as 12-10, 12-11, 12-13, 62-11, 62-12 and so on. Well, I can’t bring up channel 62-12 on my remote. I can only hit 6 and 2 and then the channel jumps to 62-1. So then I have to hit the ‘channel up’ button 11 times to get to 62-12.
What the hell is that?!
My picture is more clear, but now it’s LESS convenient to flip through the stations. If I acquire the ability to fix it, though, does that mean I’m ripping off Larry the Cable Guy? I don’t think so. He’s not really a cable guy, he’s a comedian. Well, he’s not really that either, but that’s an argument for another day.
Anyway, that’s all I’d ask for right now. Would you watch me do any of that? Somebody out there willingly saw Wesley Snipes in a third Blade movie, so maybe my desired super powers aren’t as lame as I think.
(That’s only partly true. I have more than a hunch. I looked it up on the Internet. Here’s just a few that are coming out soon – Thor, X-Men: First Class, Green Lantern, Transformers: Dark of the Moon [not sure if Pink Floyd signed off on this], Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part II, Captain America, and The Three Musketeers)
Today, in fact, there’s a movie coming out – Limitless – in which a guy develops the power of awesomeness simply by taking a pill. It doesn’t technically qualify as a superhero movie because the guy doesn’t have superpowers, he just shows the audience what life is actually like if you’re good looking and you land a role in a terrible movie.
Some of these movies do well, some tank. The similarities among those that do well seem to be a good story, good acting and special effects that are cool, but don’t overshadow the plot. And from what I can tell, there doesn’t seem to be a correlation between how much the audience identifies with the superhero and how well the movie does.
If I had to identify with the hero in order to see the movie, I’d never leave the couch. I’m not sure what this says about my level of ambition, but if I could choose to have a superpower, I wouldn’t pick something very impressive. Right now I’m thinking it’d just be nice to have the ability to pee in a urinal without having it splash back on me.
I do know this – if I could make things appear just by speaking their name, I wouldn’t sing the jingle of my insurance carrier, a la the latest State Farm commercials. Well, I take that back. If I were in an accident, then I might magically have an insurance rep appear on the scene (or I might say the words ‘new car’ and not fool with filing a bunch of accident reports, but whatever). Otherwise, if I had the ability to make things appear just by saying their name, I can’t help but think once again of how I could take advantage of that power in a public restroom.
For instance, say I’m using one, alone, when all of a sudden someone else walks in. If certain intestinal matters make it necessary, it’d be nice to say ‘built-in jukebox’ and have my own private music machine appear next to the toilet paper dispenser. Then I could reach over, punch up A-12, and ensure that the only noise ringing through the stalls would be AC/DC’s “Thunderstruck.” I avoid embarrassment and the guy who walks in only hears what he wants to (it’s a great song). We both win.
But my super-power wish list doesn’t end at the potty. I’d also like to make the digital channel system on my TV less complicated. My cable provider now only offers channels through the digital input option on users’ TVs, and instead of 11, 25 or 32, the channels are listed as 12-10, 12-11, 12-13, 62-11, 62-12 and so on. Well, I can’t bring up channel 62-12 on my remote. I can only hit 6 and 2 and then the channel jumps to 62-1. So then I have to hit the ‘channel up’ button 11 times to get to 62-12.
What the hell is that?!
My picture is more clear, but now it’s LESS convenient to flip through the stations. If I acquire the ability to fix it, though, does that mean I’m ripping off Larry the Cable Guy? I don’t think so. He’s not really a cable guy, he’s a comedian. Well, he’s not really that either, but that’s an argument for another day.
Anyway, that’s all I’d ask for right now. Would you watch me do any of that? Somebody out there willingly saw Wesley Snipes in a third Blade movie, so maybe my desired super powers aren’t as lame as I think.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Want a New Government? Yes We Tweet!
Despite my typical apathy, and sometimes moderate disdain, for social networking sites like Twitter and Facebook for how they’ve opened everyone up to the world and yet closed us off socially more than ever before, I have to admit they seem to be spurring real progress lately. The reports were that protestors garnered support for the uprising in Egypt through those two communication vehicles.
Wow. So, a few dozen Egyptians start talking trash on Twitter about their 30-year dictator, and two weeks later he’s no longer in power. If only Iraqis had access to Twitter back in 2003, right? Are you with me?! Sorry.
That’s quite a resume boost for the website: “From 2008-2010, I served mainly as an outlet where celebrities and pro athletes could bypass their overbearing publicists and wreck their careers by saying what was actually on their minds. From Feb. 2011 – current, I serve as the medium most widely used by average citizens to communicate tactical plans for joining together to successfully overthrow their government.”
That got me thinking that if Mubarak was clued into the social media fad, maybe he could have halted the protests before they ever started.
@Protestor1 – Don’t forget, tonight we rally outside whatever-we-call-that-building-that-Mubarak-is-holed-up-in so we can finally take back our government.
@Protestor2 – Yeah, right on!!
Mubarak signed on under the identity “@Longstandinggovernmentnotsobad23” – A protest rally? Really? That sounds so lame.
@Protestor1 – Why do you say that?
@Longstandinggovernmentnotsobad23 – Just seems like a big waste of time.
@Protestor2 – But we can no longer toil under Mubarak’s iron-fisted regime.
@Longstandinggovernmentnotsobad23 – I don’t know. He sounds like a pretty cool guy to me. He gave my little brother a puppy and my mom says he’s kind of hot.
@Protestor1 – That’s disgusting.
@Longstandinggovernmentnotsobad23 – It’s not disgusting! You’ll die for that, infidel dog!
@Protestor1 – What?!
@Longstandinggovernmentnotsobad23 – Uh… Uh… Nothing. Nevermind. I was just joking around. LOL!
@Protestor2 – Oh, ha! LMAO!
@Protestor1 – Yeah, LMAO too! Forget the rally. Let’s all go to the GAP.
So what does this mean for those who aren’t on Twitter in the future? I think it’s pretty obvious. If long-standing dictators and overlords learn anything from Egypt’s uprising, it will be that they need to get on Twitter under a pseudonym and just speak to potential angry citizens in ways they can identify with. Do that, and 30-year rulers can become 60-year rulers, as noted below.
@Downwiththeman1 – Planning a sit-in outside the gov. offices tomorrow. This will be Gadhafi’s last week in power.
Gadhafi signed in as @Gadhafiissuchadouche – You know, I saw on Gadhafi’s blog that he’s a distant cousin to Justin Bieber.
@Downwiththeman1 – Really?! Is that true?
@Gadhafiissuchadouche – It must be. It’s on his blog. Also, he said his regime will pass out iPads to the first 100,000 citizens who agree to meet at the outskirts of town, get on government-run buses and not ask any meddlesome questions to the guys holding machine guns.
@Downwiththeman1 – Sweet! I’m in. I’ve been needing an iPad, like, forever.
And we all know Americans are not shy when it comes to Twitter. People have launched TV shows and book deals from the 140-character musings they send out every day. Given the declining value of the dollar, it’s only a matter of time before clever Twitter updates become our new form of currency. Soon, car dealers will be trading Toyotas for the rights to tweet, “The deli down the street tried to charge me $11 for a sandwich today. I told the guy working the register, ‘That’s a bunch of baloney!’”
I’m not sure what to think of all this. Social media appears to have the same kind of power, maybe more, as national defense systems. Or maybe it’s more empowering than powerful. Maybe Twitter will bring peace to Israel. I guess that would be worth it even if it means putting up with, “Seat warmers are everything! I hate when the front seat has them but not the back seat :-(” – Kim Kardashian
Wow. So, a few dozen Egyptians start talking trash on Twitter about their 30-year dictator, and two weeks later he’s no longer in power. If only Iraqis had access to Twitter back in 2003, right? Are you with me?! Sorry.
That’s quite a resume boost for the website: “From 2008-2010, I served mainly as an outlet where celebrities and pro athletes could bypass their overbearing publicists and wreck their careers by saying what was actually on their minds. From Feb. 2011 – current, I serve as the medium most widely used by average citizens to communicate tactical plans for joining together to successfully overthrow their government.”
That got me thinking that if Mubarak was clued into the social media fad, maybe he could have halted the protests before they ever started.
@Protestor1 – Don’t forget, tonight we rally outside whatever-we-call-that-building-that-Mubarak-is-holed-up-in so we can finally take back our government.
@Protestor2 – Yeah, right on!!
Mubarak signed on under the identity “@Longstandinggovernmentnotsobad23” – A protest rally? Really? That sounds so lame.
@Protestor1 – Why do you say that?
@Longstandinggovernmentnotsobad23 – Just seems like a big waste of time.
@Protestor2 – But we can no longer toil under Mubarak’s iron-fisted regime.
@Longstandinggovernmentnotsobad23 – I don’t know. He sounds like a pretty cool guy to me. He gave my little brother a puppy and my mom says he’s kind of hot.
@Protestor1 – That’s disgusting.
@Longstandinggovernmentnotsobad23 – It’s not disgusting! You’ll die for that, infidel dog!
@Protestor1 – What?!
@Longstandinggovernmentnotsobad23 – Uh… Uh… Nothing. Nevermind. I was just joking around. LOL!
@Protestor2 – Oh, ha! LMAO!
@Protestor1 – Yeah, LMAO too! Forget the rally. Let’s all go to the GAP.
So what does this mean for those who aren’t on Twitter in the future? I think it’s pretty obvious. If long-standing dictators and overlords learn anything from Egypt’s uprising, it will be that they need to get on Twitter under a pseudonym and just speak to potential angry citizens in ways they can identify with. Do that, and 30-year rulers can become 60-year rulers, as noted below.
@Downwiththeman1 – Planning a sit-in outside the gov. offices tomorrow. This will be Gadhafi’s last week in power.
Gadhafi signed in as @Gadhafiissuchadouche – You know, I saw on Gadhafi’s blog that he’s a distant cousin to Justin Bieber.
@Downwiththeman1 – Really?! Is that true?
@Gadhafiissuchadouche – It must be. It’s on his blog. Also, he said his regime will pass out iPads to the first 100,000 citizens who agree to meet at the outskirts of town, get on government-run buses and not ask any meddlesome questions to the guys holding machine guns.
@Downwiththeman1 – Sweet! I’m in. I’ve been needing an iPad, like, forever.
And we all know Americans are not shy when it comes to Twitter. People have launched TV shows and book deals from the 140-character musings they send out every day. Given the declining value of the dollar, it’s only a matter of time before clever Twitter updates become our new form of currency. Soon, car dealers will be trading Toyotas for the rights to tweet, “The deli down the street tried to charge me $11 for a sandwich today. I told the guy working the register, ‘That’s a bunch of baloney!’”
I’m not sure what to think of all this. Social media appears to have the same kind of power, maybe more, as national defense systems. Or maybe it’s more empowering than powerful. Maybe Twitter will bring peace to Israel. I guess that would be worth it even if it means putting up with, “Seat warmers are everything! I hate when the front seat has them but not the back seat :-(” – Kim Kardashian
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Wasn't This a Guns 'N Roses Song?
I know you’re not going to care about this because no one ever cares about what I’m about to tell you. If we bother to engage in this activity at all, we only want to talk about how the activity affects us personally. We couldn't care less when it applies to someone else. And even though it comes up as a matter of conversation every year, at the same point in the year, and somehow manages to be the topic on everyone’s lips for a two-week stretch, after those first two weeks no one cares anymore. And we certainly don’t care when other people start talking about it.
But here goes: I made a New Year’s resolution this year.
It’s the first time I can remember doing so. I know, I know. That doesn’t captivate you anymore than if I had said I make one every year. So what, right? You’re right. I’ll try harder to keep you interested.
I’ve never made a resolution before because I’ve always thought I was perfect in every way.
Ok, that’s not true. I just tried saying something outlandish to keep your attention. I’ve never really made them before, not because I didn’t think there was something I could do to better myself or the world around me, but because I just never gave it much thought. Seemed like something to do if you wanted to quit smoking or lose some weight. But this year I thought, “What the hell.”
So are you ready? Here it is: I’m finally going to tell the police about that body I found.
Ok, that’s not true either (I’ll never tell them). My real resolution is to try to be a more patient dad. The results so far have been… mixed.
After making it, it dawned on me that if I wanted to achieve my goal more easily, I probably picked the wrong year for this particular resolution. With two kids, I would have been better off making this resolution while one of them, perhaps the older one, was still a fetus. Instead I picked a year in which the younger child just turned two, and the older one will soon turn four.
But I’m finding that if I can in fact become a more patient parent, this is the year in which it will truly be an accomplishment. In the three short weeks that have passed in 2011, I’ve decided the biggest obstacle standing in my way is the questions. The constant, unending questions that force me to talk to one or sometimes even both of them.
The little one is trying to make sense of the world, so she’s curious about everything.
“What are you doing, Daddy?”
“I’m getting your jammies.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s your bedtime.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s the end of the day and you need to rest so you’ll be ready for tomorrow.”
“Why?”
“Because without your rest, you’ll be cranky in the morning.”
“Why?”
“That’s just how our bodies work, sweetie.”
“Why?”
“Good night, Ada.”
“Why?”
“I love you.”
“Why?”
(Sigh).
The older one is full of questions as well, but he doesn’t even care about the answers, he just wants to be sure that three consecutive seconds never pass without filling the air around him with sound.
“Daddy, where are the markers?”
“Over on the bookcase.”
“Daddy, where are my shoes?”
“I thought you wanted the markers.”
“Daddy, what are we having for dinner?”
“I don’t kn-“
“Daddy, can we go to Grandma’s?”
“What?! Sometime, I guess. Maybe this weekend we c-“
“Daddy…”
“JACK! YOU’RE NOT EVEN LETTING ME ANSWER YOUR QUESTIONS! Now enough. This is the last question. What. Do. You. Want?”
“My leg is on fire.”
“Oh. (Slight pause) Ok. Sorry I yelled. Here, let me get the extinguisher.”
Actually, the questions aren’t really that bad when they’re coming from just one source, but my kids like teaming up to try to wear down my wife and I. Their favorite method is to decide which of them is going to throw a screaming fit, and which one will then try to steal attention away from that one.
For instance, if I happen to hand one of them a blue cup instead of a green cup, he or she might start sobbing as if they just watched me run over a bunny with the lawn mower. The other child will then use that precise moment to add to the noise by any means possible; usually by peppering my ears with questions.
“Daddy (or Mommy; they don’t discriminate), can I have a drink? Daddy, can I watch a video? Daddy, why are you crying? Daddy, can I have some money?”
What follows next is either Brigitte or I, or sometimes both of us in tandem, will imitate the hitchhiker in Dumb and Dumber who regrets getting in the giant dog car as Lloyd and Harry try to out-noise each other.
“GUYS! GUYS! GUYS!”
But, since Brigitte typically has more patience, I’m usually the one acting like the hitchhiking gas man. Therefore, the resolution. After all, Lloyd and Harry are just two men trying to have a good time while they drive across the country, and my kids are just… well, kids.
That’s it. I think I just figured out how to be more patient. Patience, you see, lies in three little words.
Giant dog car.
But here goes: I made a New Year’s resolution this year.
It’s the first time I can remember doing so. I know, I know. That doesn’t captivate you anymore than if I had said I make one every year. So what, right? You’re right. I’ll try harder to keep you interested.
I’ve never made a resolution before because I’ve always thought I was perfect in every way.
Ok, that’s not true. I just tried saying something outlandish to keep your attention. I’ve never really made them before, not because I didn’t think there was something I could do to better myself or the world around me, but because I just never gave it much thought. Seemed like something to do if you wanted to quit smoking or lose some weight. But this year I thought, “What the hell.”
So are you ready? Here it is: I’m finally going to tell the police about that body I found.
Ok, that’s not true either (I’ll never tell them). My real resolution is to try to be a more patient dad. The results so far have been… mixed.
After making it, it dawned on me that if I wanted to achieve my goal more easily, I probably picked the wrong year for this particular resolution. With two kids, I would have been better off making this resolution while one of them, perhaps the older one, was still a fetus. Instead I picked a year in which the younger child just turned two, and the older one will soon turn four.
But I’m finding that if I can in fact become a more patient parent, this is the year in which it will truly be an accomplishment. In the three short weeks that have passed in 2011, I’ve decided the biggest obstacle standing in my way is the questions. The constant, unending questions that force me to talk to one or sometimes even both of them.
The little one is trying to make sense of the world, so she’s curious about everything.
“What are you doing, Daddy?”
“I’m getting your jammies.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s your bedtime.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s the end of the day and you need to rest so you’ll be ready for tomorrow.”
“Why?”
“Because without your rest, you’ll be cranky in the morning.”
“Why?”
“That’s just how our bodies work, sweetie.”
“Why?”
“Good night, Ada.”
“Why?”
“I love you.”
“Why?”
(Sigh).
The older one is full of questions as well, but he doesn’t even care about the answers, he just wants to be sure that three consecutive seconds never pass without filling the air around him with sound.
“Daddy, where are the markers?”
“Over on the bookcase.”
“Daddy, where are my shoes?”
“I thought you wanted the markers.”
“Daddy, what are we having for dinner?”
“I don’t kn-“
“Daddy, can we go to Grandma’s?”
“What?! Sometime, I guess. Maybe this weekend we c-“
“Daddy…”
“JACK! YOU’RE NOT EVEN LETTING ME ANSWER YOUR QUESTIONS! Now enough. This is the last question. What. Do. You. Want?”
“My leg is on fire.”
“Oh. (Slight pause) Ok. Sorry I yelled. Here, let me get the extinguisher.”
Actually, the questions aren’t really that bad when they’re coming from just one source, but my kids like teaming up to try to wear down my wife and I. Their favorite method is to decide which of them is going to throw a screaming fit, and which one will then try to steal attention away from that one.
For instance, if I happen to hand one of them a blue cup instead of a green cup, he or she might start sobbing as if they just watched me run over a bunny with the lawn mower. The other child will then use that precise moment to add to the noise by any means possible; usually by peppering my ears with questions.
“Daddy (or Mommy; they don’t discriminate), can I have a drink? Daddy, can I watch a video? Daddy, why are you crying? Daddy, can I have some money?”
What follows next is either Brigitte or I, or sometimes both of us in tandem, will imitate the hitchhiker in Dumb and Dumber who regrets getting in the giant dog car as Lloyd and Harry try to out-noise each other.
“GUYS! GUYS! GUYS!”
But, since Brigitte typically has more patience, I’m usually the one acting like the hitchhiking gas man. Therefore, the resolution. After all, Lloyd and Harry are just two men trying to have a good time while they drive across the country, and my kids are just… well, kids.
That’s it. I think I just figured out how to be more patient. Patience, you see, lies in three little words.
Giant dog car.
Monday, January 3, 2011
Popular Christmas Song Titles Interwoven in the Typical Newscast Heard Around the Country This Christmas
I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas
Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!
Frosty the Snowman
“The blizzard in the northeast has wreaked havoc on holiday air travel. Dozens of flights into and out of the airport have been cancelled, stranding thousands of travelers. Many people have been forced to spend the night at the airport while waiting to see when or even if their flights will be rescheduled. For more, we go to Tom Claysmith, reporting live from the scene.”
“Thanks, Jim. Lines of confused, angry holiday travelers began weaving their way out the doors sometime Tuesday and have only grown longer as the airlines have provided passengers with plenty of questions, but few answers. We spoke with one woman who feared she wouldn’t get home to see her elderly parents in St. Paul for the holidays. She said if she wasn’t on a plane within the hour, then quote: ‘Blood will rain on everyone at terminal D4.’ Back to you, Jim.”
“Thanks, Tom. Elsewhere around town, highways and interstates are buried under snow and ice, making driving treacherous. Many roads are so bad that snow plows and salt trucks can’t get through, and even a number of tow trucks have had to be towed themselves after getting stuck in snow banks. For more, we go to Diane Morningsong. Diane…”
“Thanks, Jim. Many of those gridlocked downtown are wondering why the city was so ill prepared to deal with a storm of this magnitude. Some are even holding the mayor personally responsible for allowing such a storm to hit at the height of the Christmas season - a time when millions of people take to the streets to do their holiday shopping and to visit loved ones. A majority vote from city council has already called for the mayor’s immediate resignation. The sense here is that with questions still swirling as to what exactly took place on his neighbor’s farm back when he was the city’s sanitation commissioner, Mayor Reynolds has little hope of seeing the end of his term. Back to you.”
Walking In a Winter Wonderland
Winter Is a Marshmallow World
Baby, It’s Cold Outside
“Thanks Diane. In sports, the storm has even thrown a wrench into the NFL’s regular-season schedule, as Sunday’s game between the Vikings and the Eagles was moved to a day other than Thursday, Saturday, Sunday or Monday for the first time in the history of the league and even in the history of all of sports. Some have questioned what kind of precedent this sets for future games and if anyone was thinking of the children. The move received harsh criticism from the governor, who has gone on record to declare that the entire country is made up of ‘Limp-wristed panty waists who might as well just tuck their sacks behind their legs and start drinking Mai-Tai’s all day.’ He went on to say that ‘This nation is run by a bunch of pussies who won’t stop until we’re all eating egg rolls and fortune cookies at every meal.’ This reporter happens to agree with him.
“Now for a look at our weekend forecast with Dave Blitzburg. How’s it looking out there Dave?”
“Well, there’s not much relief in sight, as another storm front is moving in from the west. By Thursday morning we should see another 2-3 inches of the white stuff on the ground, so be prepared for county-wide school closings and skyrocketing divorce rates.”
Sleigh Ride
The Most Wonderful Time of the Year
Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer
Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!
Frosty the Snowman
“The blizzard in the northeast has wreaked havoc on holiday air travel. Dozens of flights into and out of the airport have been cancelled, stranding thousands of travelers. Many people have been forced to spend the night at the airport while waiting to see when or even if their flights will be rescheduled. For more, we go to Tom Claysmith, reporting live from the scene.”
“Thanks, Jim. Lines of confused, angry holiday travelers began weaving their way out the doors sometime Tuesday and have only grown longer as the airlines have provided passengers with plenty of questions, but few answers. We spoke with one woman who feared she wouldn’t get home to see her elderly parents in St. Paul for the holidays. She said if she wasn’t on a plane within the hour, then quote: ‘Blood will rain on everyone at terminal D4.’ Back to you, Jim.”
“Thanks, Tom. Elsewhere around town, highways and interstates are buried under snow and ice, making driving treacherous. Many roads are so bad that snow plows and salt trucks can’t get through, and even a number of tow trucks have had to be towed themselves after getting stuck in snow banks. For more, we go to Diane Morningsong. Diane…”
“Thanks, Jim. Many of those gridlocked downtown are wondering why the city was so ill prepared to deal with a storm of this magnitude. Some are even holding the mayor personally responsible for allowing such a storm to hit at the height of the Christmas season - a time when millions of people take to the streets to do their holiday shopping and to visit loved ones. A majority vote from city council has already called for the mayor’s immediate resignation. The sense here is that with questions still swirling as to what exactly took place on his neighbor’s farm back when he was the city’s sanitation commissioner, Mayor Reynolds has little hope of seeing the end of his term. Back to you.”
Walking In a Winter Wonderland
Winter Is a Marshmallow World
Baby, It’s Cold Outside
“Thanks Diane. In sports, the storm has even thrown a wrench into the NFL’s regular-season schedule, as Sunday’s game between the Vikings and the Eagles was moved to a day other than Thursday, Saturday, Sunday or Monday for the first time in the history of the league and even in the history of all of sports. Some have questioned what kind of precedent this sets for future games and if anyone was thinking of the children. The move received harsh criticism from the governor, who has gone on record to declare that the entire country is made up of ‘Limp-wristed panty waists who might as well just tuck their sacks behind their legs and start drinking Mai-Tai’s all day.’ He went on to say that ‘This nation is run by a bunch of pussies who won’t stop until we’re all eating egg rolls and fortune cookies at every meal.’ This reporter happens to agree with him.
“Now for a look at our weekend forecast with Dave Blitzburg. How’s it looking out there Dave?”
“Well, there’s not much relief in sight, as another storm front is moving in from the west. By Thursday morning we should see another 2-3 inches of the white stuff on the ground, so be prepared for county-wide school closings and skyrocketing divorce rates.”
Sleigh Ride
The Most Wonderful Time of the Year
Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer
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